The Prophet

A gust of wind rattled the dry leaves in the gutter, and I could see the distant flicker of lightning over the treetops. Devlin’s house was just ahead, a lovely old Queen Anne that he’d bought for Mariama. My steps faltered, and once again I felt spellbound. It was in that house that I’d finally succumbed to my feelings for Devlin. It was in that house that the door to the Others had been opened.

I told myself to turn back before it was too late, but I couldn’t. Not yet. I was already flashing back to my night with Devlin, to the way he had held me so tightly, kissed me so deeply, and to the way that I’d kissed him. As if I could never get enough of him. I remembered so vividly the primitive rhythm of the African music playing in his bedroom, the heat of his skin as I placed my hand over his heart…sliding my lips downward, downward…and then a glance over my shoulder into a mirror where I’d seen Mariama’s eyes staring back at me.

I forced the disturbing image from my head as I crossed the street. Thunder rumbled out in the harbor, and I could feel moisture in the air, the bristle of static electricity along my scalp. Clearly, a storm was headed this way. The signs couldn’t have been more portentous.

But still I didn’t turn back.

Whether I would have had the nerve to climb the veranda steps and ring the bell, I would never know. As I hovered on the walkway, hair rippling in that eerie draft, the door opened and I heard voices in the foyer.

I reacted purely on instinct, and, for the second time in as many nights, I ducked for cover in the bushes.

Chapter Nine

“Storm’s coming,” I heard Devlin say as I huddled in the bushes like the stalker I’d become.

“Seems fitting,” another man replied. “Bad weather, bad juju.”

“If you believe in that sort of thing.”

“Of course. How could I forget? Nothing exists beyond the five senses, right, John?”

“I’ve learned to trust my instincts. Does that count?”

As always, the sound of Devlin’s voice had a profound effect on me. My response was to shrink even deeper into the shadows beside the porch. But I couldn’t resist peeking through the turning leaves to catch a glimpse of him.

Until last evening, I hadn’t laid eyes on him since our final parting in Chedathy Cemetery months ago. I’d avoided his phone calls and email because I’d known the only way to get over him was to cut him completely from my life. During my short stay in Asher Falls, I’d almost managed to convince myself that I was ready to move on. I’d met a man whom I liked, a man whom I was attracted to, a man whom I might once have been happy with.

Now I knew better. Devlin was the only one for me, but so long as that door remained open, so long as he remained haunted, there was no hope.

So why couldn’t I just accept my fate and let him go? I’d managed to keep my distance for months, so why was it getting harder to stay away?

Because I’d seen him with another woman. Because I was afraid he’d already let me go.

Maybe that was it. Or maybe Mariama had lured me here yet again for her own purposes. It was far easier to blame a ghost than to accept responsibility for my own questionable behavior.

Whatever the reason, I was stuck now until Devlin’s guest left and he went back inside the house. I would be mortified if he caught sight of me cowering in the bushes.

As quietly as I could, I shifted my position so that I could get a better view. He stood on the veranda backlit by the chandelier in the foyer. I couldn’t see his face, but I really didn’t need to. His every feature—those dark eyes, that sensuous mouth—was permanently ingrained in my memory. I could even trace in my mind the line of the indented scar below his lower lip. That one tiny imperfection had always fascinated me.

The second man’s voice sounded familiar, but he stood with his back to me, and I didn’t recognize him until he turned to scour the shadows where I crouched. Light from the foyer fell across his face, and I drew a quick breath.

It was Ethan Shaw, a forensic anthropologist I’d worked with a few months ago. I’d first become acquainted with Ethan through his father, Dr. Rupert Shaw, the director of the Charleston Institute for Parapsychology Studies. Dr. Shaw and I had been friends since I’d first moved to the city. He’d been intrigued by a “ghost” video I’d posted on my blog and had emailed to arrange a meeting. He’d even been instrumental in helping to secure my current residence from a former assistant of his who had moved to Europe suddenly.

I remained frozen as Ethan peered into the darkness. After a moment, he turned back to Devlin. “I thought I heard something.”

“Probably just the wind.”

“Or my imagination.”

“Yes, there is that. Here.” He handed Ethan a beer, and I heard the soft fizz as they each opened their bottles.

Devlin stepped out on the veranda then and stood with shoulders squared, feet slightly apart, as if bracing for something unpleasant. He was a tall man and lean to the point of gauntness from all his years of being haunted. But there was something very powerful about him just the same. Something almost menacing about the way he scowled into the darkness.

“I don’t mind admitting I’m still a little jumpy,” Ethan said with an uneasy laugh. He perched on the railing while Devlin leaned a shoulder against the porch wall. “Never in a million years did I expect to look across the street and find Darius Goodwine staring back at me. I’m telling you, John, it was the eeriest feeling. The weirdest coincidence.”

“You don’t really think it was a coincidence, do you?”

“I don’t see how it could be anything else. I’m never in that neighborhood. I don’t even have occasion to drive through it. Then today I was called out to an old house on Nassau to examine some bones that were unearthed beneath the porch. When I crawled out, there he was. He had on sunglasses and a hat, so I guess I could have been mistaken—”

“You weren’t mistaken,” Devlin said. “It was him.”

“How can you be so sure?”

“Things are happening in this city.”

“What do you mean?”

Devlin paused, his gaze lifting to the trees and for some reason, I thought of the nightingale and his strange insistence that I’d heard a mockingbird. “A woman was found dead on the east side a few nights ago. The toxicology screen turned up some interesting chemicals in her bloodstream. A cornucopia of botanical psychedelics, the coroner said, along with a substance that no one has been able to identify.”

“What’s that got to do with Darius?”

“Everything if that unknown substance turns out to be gray dust.”

“Gray dust? Jesus.” Ethan turned once again to scan the darkness. He looked pale and tense in the light that streamed through the doorway, and I could have sworn I heard a note of fear in his voice. “I thought that stuff disappeared years ago.”

“Apparently, it’s resurfaced just when Darius Goodwine returns from a long African sabbatical,” Devlin said grimly. “There’s only one source for gray dust and only a handful of outsiders that have ever been granted access. He’s one of them.”

“Yes, but he’s not the only one.”

“Come on.” Devlin sounded impatient. “Today was no coincidence. He wanted you to see him just like he made sure those rumors about the gray dust got back to me. Just like he made sure the right chemicals turned up in that woman’s body to create a mask. Every move he makes has a purpose.” Again, Devlin tilted his head, as if trying to detect some distant sound. I glanced up, but the trees remained silent.

“What is it?” Ethan asked anxiously.

“Nothing. I guess I’m hearing things, too.”

“Darius has that effect.” Ethan rubbed the back of his neck. “It’s hard to believe a man in his position would take such a risk. It’s not like he needs the money these days.”

“Money was never his motivation. Gray dust gives him the power to play God.”

“The wielder of life and death,” Ethan murmured. “Isn’t that what he used to say?”

Devlin moved over to the steps and stood gazing out into the yard. If he looked down at just the right angle, he would surely spot me. I wanted to fade more deeply into the shadows of the porch, but I was afraid even a slight sound would draw his attention. Discovery would be the ultimate humiliation, but I was also fascinated by the conversation. Mariama’s maiden name was Goodwine so I suspected she had some connection to Darius. What I didn’t know was why the very utterance of his name seemed to invoke dread. I felt a tremor of something in the air that made my heart beat even faster.

“I used to think gray dust was a myth,” Ethan said. “I always scoffed when Father and Mariama talked about it so reverently. I still say it’s just a very powerful hallucinogen.”

“It’s more than that,” Devlin said. “It stops the heart and people die. And the ones that come back…” As he moved down the steps, he turned his head away, and his voice became muffled. I couldn’t make out the rest of his comment.

“You’ve seen them?” Ethan asked.